


Wolves Don't Belong in the Jungle

by Anonymous



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fryecest - Freeform, Halloween Challenge, Off-Screen Murder, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26953969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Pieces of Eden always have a surprise attached, though whether that's a bad thing....that's left to interpretation.
Relationships: Evie Frye/Jacob Frye
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31
Collections: Anonymous





	Wolves Don't Belong in the Jungle

The shroud. It all started with the shroud.

It started with the glow of gold that seemed so ominous now, with the heady feeling of power and strength that flooded their bodies. It started with the slithery whisper that slid through their minds.

_You'll do well_.

A flash of gold and a feeling like being torn apart and put together and compressed.

Then darkness.

They, or rather Evie, awake to Henry frantically hovering over her, hands fluttering about in uncertainty and guilty greedy desire.

"I'm fine," she assures him, even as _something_ in the back of her mind, something new and foreign and primal, rears up and back at his touch, growling lowly.

When she musters her own unease and confused desires and kisses him, the beast within howls in fury.

And in a sense beyond sight, a plane beyond most comprehension, something else howls back.

\--  
  


Jacob is the first to see that something is changed.

Running over the rooftops, always nearly effortless, is now barely an afterthought. The line launcher now causes no ache on his shoulder. He can jump higher and run the span of the city and back and only then begin to feel winded. 

He can see further, can count the individual feathers on a pigeon's wing from a building away. He squats on a rooftop and can hear the wail of a baby three houses over in the middle of the afternoon.

The smell of the city, though...it's become nearly unbearable. Already strong and pungent, especially in Whitechapel, now it makes him want to tear his nose off. The smell of stale piss and feces and smog and sweat and unwashed bodies. The smell of three day-old eel jelly and beer trapped in one of his Rook's beard. The scent of sex and arousal everytime the gang claims a victory and goes off to celebrate with ale and wenches.

It gets to the point where he has to smoke cigars in order to dull the scent of the world, and he knows everything that has happened to him has happened to his sister as well, because she doesn't even complain when he smokes in the car.

And he's _hungry_. Normal food still works, but it's like eating a bowl of feed: it keeps him alive, but it doesn't really fuel him, entice him and satisfy.

Instead it's meat, the bloodier the better. He is delighted see to an increase of cuts, some still oozing from being hacked just hours before, on the train daily, and he discovers Evie has invested money at various butcher shops, ostensibly to make extra profit in the upcoming holiday rush and to fuel their gang, but also to get first choice at the meat. 

A few times he's offered her the choicest cuts he can find, succulent and marbled and to anyone else, embarrassingly and insultingly undercooked. She savors it, greedily sucking warm blood from her fingers, and the beast that has grown within him, implanted by that Piece of Eden, chuffs and rumbles in smug pleasure.

There's another type of pleasure as well. His sister's scent drives something in him. He's torn between spending too much time on the train: on one hand, the train is relatively easier on his nose, and his sweet sister's scent makes it so much more bearable. It calls to him, enticing him with the warm scent and sensation of...well, of _pack_.

On the other hand, her scent is everywhere and he finds it nearly impossible to avoid taking her and-

It takes more willpower than he knew possessed to avoid sneaking across to her cabin in the dead of night. Instead he ruts mindlessly, frantically into cushions, inhaling the scent of her in the air. It's not enough, but it takes the edge off. It's all he can do - the beast revolts at his attempts to be with other women. _Unworthy_ , it snarls. _We have one mate, our mate! No other!_

A part of him thinks he should be disgusted and ashamed at how he desires his own womb mate, but then the imperious part of him snorts. It wasn't like he'd ever had a childhood sweetheart, or other real desires. Pearl had come close, but quietly, he could admit to himself, it was because she reminded him of Evie. Self-assured, intelligent, determined, powerful. And then Roth…

Roth had been...a symbol. A reflection of what he thought he'd like to be: a gang leader who took risks, enjoyed the thrill of living, of winning. Who drank and fucked and killed what he wanted, who lived by his own righteous code. Roth was what he thought he wanted to be, what he thought he could be, if Evie was just...gone. A fun fantasy.

But it wasn't. Roth was insane, his righteous code was a twisted one. Roth had no Evie, and perhaps that was why he'd become what he was. Sure his sister could nag, but the terrible alternative was someone who didn't bother at all.

So really, it made perfect sense to want Evie. They complimented each other, and who better for him than the person who understood him the best, who could reign him in, and also knew when to let go. 

And really, despite her seemingly bookish nature, Evie was just as at home with a blade in her hand and her enemy's blood dripping down her face. Most couldn't see this, or worse, were offended and shocked at it and Jacob thought that was a damn shame. Only cowards and the insecure would content themselves with some pampered princess who never fought back. So if everyone else couldn't see the treasure Evie was, more the pity to them.

Although...there was one who could see his sister's value, and it makes his hackles rise at the thought.

Greenie.

The Indian man's presence is, admittedly, a blessing, though it came wrapped in it's own curse. After the events in the vault, Henry, already underfoot and insufferable, has all but moved in to make moon eyes and recite poetry to his ~~mate~~ sister. His presence and scent quells the heat in his lower belly, but also creates a burning rage in his chest. The beast _hates_ Greenie, wants to tear apart this would-be usurper and present his warm heart to Evie, wants Jacob to prove his might and worth. Henry might have watched over London, but the Frye Twins conquered it. It was their territory now, the train their den. Henry didn't belong - he was an unworthy beta trying to appeal to a queen, ignoring the king that was right next to him, ready to tear his throat out.

Still, as long as he knew his place...as long as he didn't overstep...Jacob would keep the beast at bay.

  
\--  
  


"I'm sorry?"

Evie stares at Henry, and the beast within snapped it's jaws and snarled.

Henry falters, but musters his courage, giving her an appealing smile. "You would honor me with your hand in marriage, Miss Frye."

She doesn't dislike Henry. If she didn't know of his desire and intentions, she would be proud to call him her good friend, right there with Ned and Agatha and young, clever Clara.

And prior to the events in the vault, she had felt something like affection for the quiet man. With enough time, she might have called it love. 

But now...she is too polite to say it, but the thought of kissing him again made her sick. His scent, with these remarkable new senses, wasn't...unpleasant, but compared to the heady, masculine ambrosia that wafted day and night from the cabin next to hers...it was salted rations to a full course feast.

The logical part of her pushes to accept the offered union. Her body and heart knows what it wanted but her mind…

_It's wrong, it's so wrong. To feel...that! For my twin!_

But if it's one thing she has learned in her time in London, duty didn't always supersede desire.

  
\--  
  


"Henry asked to marry me."

The ground beneath him seems to lurch.

Marriage? Henry wanted to marry his sister?

_He wants what's ours_!

"What did you say?" He murmurs, feeling his nails, far thicker and sharper than they ever were before, slice into the palms of his clenched fist.

His sister glides towards him, leaning her equally strong frame against his own. "I told him no."

Her mouth comes close to his ear, and he shivers as her breath caresses his ear.

_"Wolves don't belong in the jungle, brother dear."_

A growl, too deep and primal to ever come from a normal man rises in his chest. He pulls her close, inhaling the scent of her neck, letting her feel his desire. The sun has long set and Evie's eyes, now molten gold rather than deep azure, gleam in the light of the autumn moon.

No, wolves don't belong in humid jungles, tripping over vines. They belonged in thick forests, with the breeze running through trees and fur, dead leaves crunching under their paws.

And Frye wolves...they belong on cobbled streets, shadows slipping past the light of street lanterns and in back alleys. The greatest predators above or below. Scenting every corner, letting their subjects know the true royalty of London. 

He could see it now. Perhaps a name change for their gang was in order…

But the future could wait. As his twin's own claws slice elegantly through his shirt and belt buckle, as he pushes her down on the too-small bed, as they press against each other, connecting in a way that they hadn't since birth...yes, the future could wait.

  
\--  
  


The dawn is breaking when they finally cease their coupling. Their skin sticks and slides from the multitude of fluids - Evie's thighs are soaked as the strange, yet not unwelcome bulbous addition to his member shrinks and they both see just how much pleasure they released.

The bed is covered in downy feathers, from pillows ripped apart by inhumane fangs as their owner attempted to muffle screams of ecstasy. The once neat sheets are soaked and shredded in long tattered ribbons.

She holds him close, stroking his head, his back, the hair on both now thicker and closer in texture to that of a beast. She keeps him nestled between her thighs, soft and yet comforting, a sign of their newly forged connection. He keeps strong arms made stronger wrapped around her, protective and possessive.

Their beasts are not silent, but now slightly sated. A part of them wants to repeat the night's events, though in a different form and free to howl their love and claim to the entire city. But not now, not yet. There were obstacles still.

"What do we do about Mr. Green?" She murmurs, lightly nipping at his ear.

He grunts, holding her closer. "There are plenty of Blighters still about." He nuzzled her neck. "Maybe I'll have a talk with him about his proposal over a pint or five. And well, if the redcoats happen to come across us as we're going home…"

She should feel bad that they're plotting the murder of a friend, but with him grower stiffer against her, she can't find herself caring as much. "Devious, brother dearest."

"Aren't I, sweet sister?" He returned, starting to rub against her, turned on despite himself at the upcoming destruction of his competition. "We have a few hours yet…" Golden eyes meet their equal. "Shall we?"

"Yes...let's."

  
  



End file.
